‘Valentino?’
It was more throaty squeak than invitation, which completely ruined the moment, his eyes darting back to her face. ‘Sorry. What?’ He shook his head as if to clear it of whatever had been going on in there.
If it was as X-rated as what she’d been thinking, she wished him luck.
Eyeing the plate with the half-eaten tiramisu like it was a gift horse from the gods, he shook his head. ‘Oh, no, I’m fine thanks. You have it.’
Then he shifted off the table, moving to the single chair furthest away.
Sighing, but still with cake to eat, Peyton ignored the presence of him in her peripheral vision as she set about satisfying at least one of her appetites, scraping the last crumbs off the plate a minute later. ‘Mmm, that was amazing,’ she announced as she set the plate on the coffee table.
Which was an understatement. Frankly, if there’d been another piece, she’d have eaten it as well. She had three years of a sparrow-like appetite to make up for and her stomach was accepting the challenge with gusto.
‘Now…’ She glanced down at her poor feet. ‘If only my feet would stop aching, everything would be perfect. Honestly’ – she glanced at Valentino – ‘you’d think a theatre nurse would be used to standing.’
Valentino chuckled. ‘We walked a lot.’
‘We did.’
‘I could… give you a foot massage,’ he offered.
Peyton regarded him for a moment. He looked cool and calm and totally in control again, and she wondered if she’d imagined the weird moment they’d just lived through. The ache in her nipples said no but maybe her hormones were gaslighting her?
Moving across to the end of her three-seater sofa, Valentino slapped his lap. ‘Put them here and pass me the moisturising cream behind you.’
Feet throbbing in anticipation, Peyton hesitated briefly. Valentino looked like he was back to his physically restrained self – was she, though? The answer to that wasnobut she’d been horny for months now and hadn’t pushed him against a wall and kissed him or anything more risqué, so she wasn’t about to pass up a foot rub on the off chance it might become something else.
Grabbing the pump pack of cream, she tossed it to him, worming down in the couch until she was almost completely horizontal, the back of her head propped on the armrest, her feet in his lap. He looked at her red painted toe nails for several beatsbut didn’t comment as he lifted one foot, squirted the cream then smoothed it onto her foot.
A tiny whimper escaped from the back of Peyton’s throat at his first touch – not too light, not too heavy, just right – and she sighed deeply. ‘That issogood,’ she murmured, her eyes shutting involuntarily at the exquisite pleasure/pain of it.
He must have hit some acupressure point because the sensation was almost sexual, the urge to arch her back an almost overwhelming need.
God… this was a mistake. She wanted to feel him stroke her entire body just like that.
His fingers halted and Peyton opened her eyes to find his gaze roving over her body like hewantedto stroke it, too. Gah –sucha mistake.
She should tell him to stop. Get off this couch. But it felt too damn good to resist so she just wriggled her toes and whispered, ‘Don’t stop.’
Dragging his gaze off her, Valentino returned to his task, his eyes now firmly fixed on her feet. ‘Maybe you should give up work?’ he said as he rubbed.
Drowsy with sensation, Peyton shook her head. ‘Erica seems to think it’s okay to continue. She’ll let me know if she thinks I should pack it in.’
‘I know. I’m just saying you’re exhausted right now?—’
‘That’s only today, I’ve been feeling fine.’
‘Yes, but you’re bound to become more fatigued as the pregnancy progresses.’
‘I’m fine,’ she reiterated, her eyes drifting shut as Valentino rubbed her instep and she shivered. ‘Besides, I can’t afford to give up work this early.’
‘I can support you.’
Peyton was too chilled out to be affronted. ‘No.’
‘Peyton—’
Peyton smiled at the wounded Italian male pride she heard in his voice. ‘No. If I need your help, I’ll ask.’ She lifted her head from the arm. ‘Okay?’
